Ash Nazg Krimpatul
by ElfGirl and Prink
Summary: “My name is Yusraa,” She began, noting the hobbits' amusement at her queer name. “I am a Swerting, or Southron, or Haradrim, or any other variation you please, it matters not.” The tale of the tenth member of the Fellowship.
1. A Night in Bree

**Author's Note: **I am out of school and work, and have decided to amuse myself with writing. I'm not going to lie: this story is your cliché 'female is added to the fellowship and ends up falling in love with one of the characters.' The best I can hope for is that it will be well written, and I'm looking to you readers to help with that. Please offer critiques and constructive criticism when you see the need for it, the last thing I want is to fall into a bunch of bad writing habits without knowing it. -Elf Girl

**Disclaimer: **All that I write about belongs to Tolkien's Co.

**Chapter 1: A Night in Bree**

The last strains of sunlight were slowly releasing their grasp on the dark clouds overhead, when two hooded figures reached the gate of Bree. Their knock brought the night watchman, who eyed them from a window in the door. "And who might you be?" He questioned darkly; even with the aid of a lantern he was unable to make out the faces of the travelers.

"Patrons of the Prancing Pony, if you will let us pass," A gruff voice answered him. The gatekeeper could only assume it belonged to the larger of the two.

"Indeed?" He pressed doubtfully. Silence was his only answer as the man pondered what should be done. Finally, he sighed, "Alright, but mind yourselves;" He warned and, against his better judgment, opened wide the gate.

The figures slipped inside, and were soon lost amid the growing shadows of the village street.

A few brisk moments bought the travelers into the dancing light which spilled from the windows of the inn. As they entered, the two wordlessly parted company; the elder moving off to see about lodging for the evening, while his companion headed for the main room.

The Prancing Pony was never in want of occupants, and this night was no exception. Amid the hearty songs and robust banter of men, dwarves, and hobbits; the younger newcomer moved somewhat unnoticed toward a corner of the large room. Finding a seat, the slim form shrank further into the darkness, even as keen eyes and ears strained to pull anything of interest from the bustling crowd.

There was little to be learned. After only a few moments it could be determined that there was no one of special interest present and, although there was mention of dark riders being murmured by some of the more foreboding individuals, it was not news to the small figure.

"Butterbur has no memory of an Underhill and a Gamgee, at least not traveling together." The gruff voiced traveler informed his friend as he joined the shadowy edge of the common-room. "Here," he added, holding out a key; "Go rest, I can watch for them."

"They should have been here by now," His companion murmured, the notes of her voice bearing the mark of foreign lands.

"They are hobbits, what do you expect?" The elder's voice was muffled as he searched the pack at his side. Bringing forth his pipe, the man filled and lit it, leaning back in his chair to enjoy his first evening indoors in more than a fortnight.

A resigned sigh revealed that the smaller form did not share his sentiment, but she gave no further sign of her disagreement.

"Go rest," Her fellow traveler prompted once more. "Or wander, or eat," He added; "There is no need for you to stay here."

After a moment, the girl nodded in thankful consent. Relieving the elder of his pack, she slid away down one of the halls.

The room itself was nice enough, as rooms in The Pony always were. Though there was no fire on the hearth, scattered candles offered light enough for the girl to make out her surroundings. A table stood directly before her, and here she relieved herself of their bags. The table was encircled with enough chairs to satisfy a large company, though, with only two beds, it would be hard to accommodate such a group in the small room. Beyond all this was a row of windows set into the far wall, and a glance revealed that they looked out onto the street below.

Upon further inspection, the youth determined that, when properly positioned, she could watch the inn's entrance through the curtain of rain which had begun to fall. Immediately, she returned to the table for a chair, and this she brought back to the vantage point. Settling into it, the girl curled her feet beneath her and pulled her cloak tighter. For long moments she merely stared out into the rain.

The younger traveler must have surrendered to sleep, for next she knew the door of her room was being thrown open. She could feel a rush of blood pound in her head even as, springing to her feet, the girl drew a dagger from her side in defense against the intruder. She dropped it a moment later.

A hobbit cowered on the floor, unmoving from the spot where the gruff-voiced man had thrown him. "What do you want?" The small figure demanded, terror shrill in his voice.

"A little more caution from you," The man hissed back, smothering candles as his eyes swept the room warily.

"What has happened? What is wrong?" The girl questioned, pulling back her hood to see better in the gloom which had overtaken the small space. Her voice raised a jolt in the small halfling, and he twisted about to get a look her.

The sight which met the hobbit caused him to shrink back. The girl was dark of skin and hair and eyes, and what little light filtered in through the window shimmered in the reflection of gold rings which lined the youths' ears. Though clothed in common garments, she stood with the pride and coldness of a distant people.

"A Swerting," The hobbit whispered at last, eyes wide; "What do you want with me?"

A dark gleam filled the man's gaze as he drew back to the hobbit's side. "Are you frightened?" He questioned softly.

"Yes," The hobbit admitted, his attention torn between the two forms as he attempted to determine who to be more in fear of.

"Not nearly frightened enough," The man noted softly, venomously; "We know what hunts you."

Footsteps pounded in the hall. Without a word, the man dragged the halfling to his feet and pushed him toward the far end of the room, even as the Swerting drew her dagger once more and stepped to the door as it flew open. Three hobbits stood in the threshold, armed with an array of makeshift weapons. They appeared frozen for a moment, as they blinked owlishly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness within.

"Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Their leader demanded. His fists were raised defensively; though it was clear he did not know where to throw them.

"You have a stout heart little hobbit," The man remarked to their leader, before turning back to the first halfling "Time has run out," His voice was still dark, but it had lost some of its chill. "You cannot wait here for Gandalf. They are coming."

The hobbit darted to join his friends in the doorway, but went no further. "The innkeeper called you Strider," Terror had given way somewhat to suspicion, as the halfling eyed the man; "He said you were a ranger of the East. What would Gandalf have to do with the likes of you?"

"He is an old friend–––" Strider began, but he was cut off by the girl's voice, as she broke abruptly into a soft song:

"Farewell we call to hearth and hall!  
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,  
We must away, ere break of day  
Far over the wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell  
In glades beneath the misty fell.  
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,  
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,  
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,  
Until at last our toil be passed,  
Our journey done, our errand sped."

As she sang, the youth's gaze remained fixed on the first hobbit, and in the silence she watched for a response.

"A song of the dwarves," The halfling murmured absently, lost in thought. "Bilbo wrote of it in his book."

The girl nodded, "We have been to Rivendell; we have met your uncle." She explained, "I can offer no further sign of our good intent that you would understand."

As the hobbit weighed his options, a blanket of silence covered the room. It was broken only by the distant sound of the inn's other occupants, as they passed a merry night unaware of what was transpiring.

At long last, the halfling sighed, "What must we do?"

The Swerting broke into a relieved grin, and Strider clapped her shoulder. "I suppose introductions are in order," The ranger noted, "But we have more pressing matters to attend to.

"At dawn's break we will leave Bree, sever from the common road and travel with all haste to Rivendell. If Gandalf follows us, he will know to look along the path we will take."

The wizard's name awoke a new concern in the first hobbit; "When did you last see Gandalf?" He questioned, "Do you know where he is, or what he is doing?"

"Another conversation we do not have time for at present," The Swerting interjected, shaking her head. "Once you are secure for the night we can talk of such things."

At Strider's prompting, the hobbits lead the way to the room which had been prepared for them.

"No halfling rooms are safe tonight," the girl explained, as she and the ranger gathered up the hobbits' possessions; "The dark riders will know to seek you here." After everything had been removed from the room, the two stuffed the hobbits' beds, to create the illusion that the four were fast asleep. With that, they locked the door, and the six returned to the first room.

Strider set about barring the door from intruders, while the Swerting lit a fire in the hearth and moved the two beds together to create a place for the hobbits to sleep. Food was drawn together from various bags, and soon the company was enjoying a makeshift meal as they quietly conversed.

The hobbits introduced themselves as Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. The last two, though not formally invited to join their cousin's quest, had fallen into it rather unexpectedly, and were quickly growing attached to the excitement of being outside the shire.

"And what of you?" Peregrin – or Pippin, as he was called by his companions – questioned their hosts. "You have heard all about us, but I imagine it is your tales which will be the more fascinating."

The two smiled at the hobbit's excited anticipation, and Strider was the first to offer his story. "There is little more to say of my origins that would interest you," He began; "I am indeed Strider, and have long wandered the pathways of Middle Earth as a ranger. I was, however, raised in Rivendell under the care of Lord Elrond, and it was there that I first learned about the importance of hobbits.

"I was there," He noted to Frodo; "When your uncle returned from the Lonely Mountain. I first saw the ring then – nothing more than a trinket to our knowledge. It is always strange the way such trivialities grow to hold such power." Here his voice trialed of, as the ranger turned to his own thoughts.

There was a pause, as the hobbits waited for him to continue. When it was clear that he would not, they turned to the girl.

"My name is Yusraa," She began, noting the hobbits' amusement at her queer name. "I am a Swerting, or Southron, or Haradrim, or any other variation you please; it matters not. I was raised in Near Harad, on the northern shore of the river Harnen." More amusement: though the girl was fascinated by origins and geographical locations, her words meant little to the halflings who were freshly out of the Shire.

"Disaster befell my tribe when I was young. It was by the grace of the Valar that I was found by Gandalf in South Gondor, and brought away to fairer lands. I was taken to Lothlorien, and then Rivendell where I met Strider."

"Are you a ranger, too?" Merry questioned. There had been too many confusing bits in the Southron's story for his taste, but at least they still held their attention.

"In a sense, I suppose," The girl responded thoughtfully, before adding: "Though not quite like Strider."

"What can you tell us of Gandalf?" Frodo interjected.

Yusraa's gaze darkened, "There is little I can tell. When I last spoke to Gandalf he was preparing to head east, to speak to the White Wizard of Isengard. It has been quite some time since then, and no one seems to know where he has disappeared to."

"I believe it is time for sleep," Strider concluded, abruptly rejoining the conversation. "We have a long journey ahead of us." With that, he pulled his chair from its place by the hearth, and positioned it beside the doorway.

Following her companion's lead, Yusraa retook her seat at the window, allowing the hobbits some time to talk amongst themselves as they prepared for bed. It was not long before all four surrendered to sleep.


	2. The Shadow of Dark Riders

**Author's Note**: I should warn you now: if it seems like the last half of this chapter is a bit off, it was written while under the influence of Elvis Presley's 'A Little Less Conversation' (the song has been stuck in my head for days now.) Anyway, it's over with, and hopefully the next section will be better. Oh, and comments and criticisms are still greatly appreciated. – Elf Girl

**P.S.** I should add that there are comments for my fantastic reviewers at the bottom of the page. Now on with the fic.

**Chapter 2: The Shadow of Dark Riders**

It was in the dead of night that Frodo awoke, not to any one sound, though there were many, but rather to an immense dread which gripped his heart. He sat in horror for a moment, eyes darting about the small space. The fire had been reduced to embers, and in every shadow and at each corner of the room he saw the shifting shapes of black riders.

Only after several moments of careful scrutiny did the hobbit realize that it was merely his mind playing tricks. Yusraa and Strider still sat at their posts, and appeared unaffected by the fear which gripped the halfling.

Frodo moved gingerly to return to sleep, but a bone-chilling screech from without the room brought his companions to their senses, and removed any thought of rest from his mind."What are they?" The hobbit questioned, his voice trembling.

"Nazgul," Yusraa murmured, her gaze fixed on the street below.

"They were once Men," Strider explained, when it was clear that the Haradrim would say no more; "Great Kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will."

The hobbits drew the blankets tighter about their shoulders as the ranger continued. "They are the Ringwraiths: neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting it."

Another shriek filled the air, seeming to originate from the very walls about them. A moment later it was joined by heavy footsteps pounding through the hall. The hobbits held their breath, waiting for dark forms to break through the door and come for them. The pace of the steps remained unbroken, however, and soon faded off into the night.

"They are leaving," Yusraa noted, turning for the first time to look at the halflings; "We are safe for now."

Frodo could feel that she was right, already the burden on his heart was growing lighter, and he found himself succumbing once more to sleep.

When next the ringbearer awoke, it was to the sound of quiet discussion. Slitting his eyes, Frodo could see Strider and Yusraa bowed over the table, looking through the collection of packs. Although the urge to bolt up and demand an explanation was strong, the hobbit waited to hear what they spoke of.

"…Animals were scared off in the night," Yusraa whispered.

"We will not be much slower on foot," Responded the ranger, returning the bag in his hands to the pile, and reaching for another. "But the food and stores trouble me."

"We could hunt along the way."

Strider shook his head, "Gathering and catching is weary work on such a journey as this, and anything we do find will leave a trail of our presence."

"We could wait for Gandalf…" Yusraa's voice trailed off as she caught her companion's dark gaze.

"Even if he is well, we have no way of knowing if he will come this way at all," The tone was firm, but not unkind; and the girl gave a reluctant nod.

"What are you doing?" The fierceness in the unexpected voice caused the two to turn. Samwise had just begun to wake, and the sight of his new found guides rummaging through the collection of belongings was more than the stout hobbit could stand.

Strider and Yusraa exchanged glances, though it was Frodo who next broke the silence: "It's alright, Sam," The hobbit assured his friend as he moved to sit up; "They are trying to help us."

"Help us, indeed!" Sam grumbled to himself, but he seemed hesitant to contradict his companion outright.

The two in question gazed for a long moment at Frodo, as it became clear that the hobbit had caught a bit of their conversation. "I believe," Said Yusraa at last, a glimmer of amusement in her voice; "That we have underestimated the craftiness of our newfound friends."

"I believe you are right," Strider agreed, before moving to the beds. "Let us wake your companions," He said to the hobbits; "Provided they are actually sleeping, and not merely waiting to hear what more we have to say."

Once the others had been roused, the six set about preparing to leave. Sam and Merry were sent with orders to secure food and any sort of pack animal that had survived the fright of the previous evening, while their companions saw to breakfast and other last-minute necessities.

Strider and Yusraa soon returned to their work with the packs and, to Frodo and Pippin's dismay, the two were removing everything that would not be of use on their journey. Although the hobbits protested as fine teacups, extra cutlery, sticks of butter, and other hobbit-essentials were added to a growing pile, their guides paid them little heed.

It was not long before Merry and Sam returned, and Butterbur with them. Seeing that the ranger had come to join the hobbits' company upset the innkeeper, and at the sight of Yusraa he lost any pretence of civility. "You!" He cried, "I told you not to return here!"

"She's here with my leave," Frodo suddenly spoke up.

"Noble of you, Little Master," Barliman retorted, never taking his eyes off the girl; "But there's no need to be sticking up for the likes of these. Every day that passes brings more Southrons to Bree, and not a one of them is up to any good!"

"If you'd like her gone," Noted the hobbit firmly; "You had better see to getting our supplies. She will be coming with us."

Butterbur sputtered for a few moments, trying to save the halflings from what he was sure would be a horrible mistake. In the end, however, it was clear they would not see his reason, and the innkeeper finally trudged off to see what he could do for the group.

The sun was high overhead by the time all preparations had been made, and they had given up any hope of setting out quietly. Butterbur had been able to find a pony for the travelers, but the poor beast was so malnourished that they hadn't the heart to burden it with the number of supplies they had hoped to bring.

Strider decided that the company would leave by the main road, since any attempt to set off cross country would raise suspicion among the Bree folk, and bring unwelcome meddlers along at their heels. It was not until late afternoon, once the six were well away from the town, that they broke from the beaten path. Their guides led the way east, to make for Weathertop Hill by way of the Midgewater Marshes.

The first few days flew by uneventfully. Their path was clear, and the gentle slope of the land as it dipped down to the marshes made the hobbits feel that they were traveling with a good bit more strength than before their arrival in Bree.

By noon of the third day, however, their journey grew less pleasant. They had reached the valley's bottom, and footing became unsure amid boggy pools and dense rushes. Navigating the marshes was disorienting, and at times downright treacherous as quagmires threatened to swallow careless hobbits. It was there that the midges began to plague them. Swarms of them circled the small group, undeterred by any attempts to keep them at bay.

If the day was bad, the night was insufferable. Everything they possessed was damp, and between the insects that bit and those that chirped there was no rest for any of them.

Things were little better the following day, and by the fifth of their journey the hobbits were on the verge of despair when, at long last, they broke through the marshes and onto dry land. From there it was a steady walk that brought the company to the skirts of Weathertop, and the setting sun saw their arrival at the watchtower of Amon Sul.

Though from afar the ancient stronghold appeared a welcome refuge in the midst of their journey, the hobbits found it less than promising. "Well here we are!" Noted Merry, "And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter to be had."

"Aye," Sam agreed; "But it's still better than those marshes."

Their guides offered neither agreement nor apology, and the group soon began to make camp.

In the gray shadows of twilight, Frodo began once more to feel the weight of fear which had gripped his heart in Bree. Looking about frantically, he questioned: "Is it safe here?"

Both Strider and Yusraa paused in their work to eye the halfling. "As safe as it is anywhere for us, why do you ask?" The ranger responded.

At once, Frodo felt somewhat foolish, like a young hobbit who has awoken in the night to tell of goblins he saw dancing about his bed. "I–" The Ringbearer began, before stopping himself. "It was nothing."

The answer was not good enough for Strider. Clasping the hobbit's shoulder, the ranger dropped to his knees to meet Frodo's gaze. "There is still hope, you are not alone," He murmured to the halfling, before rising to speak to the others. "Let's gather wood. There is little shelter or defense here, but fire will serve for both."

Yusraa shook her head, "We stand on the pinnacle of this land. Even the smallest fire will be seen for miles in all directions."

"Fire is our friend in the wilderness," Strider responded. His voice was curt, as though giving a lecture rather than making a point; "The black riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it."

The southron still seemed unconvinced, but gave no further argument as the hobbits set about gathering wood.

By the time they had set a fire, the dark of night was upon them, and spirits improved little as the flames cast dark shadows all about the camp. The hobbits huddled tightly around the flickering light, wrapped in every cloak and blanket they possessed. Yusraa and Strider sat opposite one another and back some from their small companions. Each gazed out absently into the darkness surrounding Amon Sul, as if the next moment would bring friend or foe under their watchful gaze.

Time passed, and brought with it no sign of any being or creature. Strider turned back to the fire, and began to sing the tale of Luthien Tinuviel– an elf maiden who captured the love of Beren, a mortal. Luthien was fairest of her kind, and when Beren stumbled upon her dancing at the edge of the river Esgalduin he gave her the name Tinuviel: Nightingale. Both joy and sorrow filled their lives, and together they reclaimed one of the three Simarils of old.

"What happened to her?" Frodo questioned, as the ranger dropped into silence.

Strider's voice was cold: "She died."

"Chose to die," Yusraa corrected abruptly, her dark eyes shining as she added to the tale. "Beren was slain by Carcharoth, a wolf from the gates of Angband; and Luthien gave up her immortality to follow him, in death, beyond the stretches of Middle Earth." She paused, before adding; "Some say it was the greatest act of love."

"And some say no mortal deserves such an act," Strider countered, watching Yusraa intently.

A slight smile graced the girl's lips, "Luthien did not seem to think so."

The hobbits looked on in confusion. It was clear that the two spoke of more than the ancient tale, and yet they could not begin to guess what it was that conflicted their guides.

Any further argument or speculation was cut short by a cry from Pippin. In an instant the company realized what had captured the hobbit's fear. Shadows, so dark that the night about them seemed to pale in comparison, were standing at the edges of the watchtower. In an instant, the camp was half overturned as the companions sprang to defend themselves. Strider and Yusraa urged the hobbits closer to the fire, grabbing makeshift torches to brandish at their dark enemies. Sam, Merry, and Pippin fumbled to draw the daggers at their sides, even as tremors of fright shook their small forms.

It was Frodo alone who did nothing. The foreboding terror which had come to him when they reached Weathertop now multiplied a hundredfold as he gazed upon the Ringwraiths. Yet, even as they slowly advanced, the hobbit felt an insufferable desire to put on the ring. Its weight became unbearable about his neck, and the Frodo felt that no other action could be taken on his part until the ring was on his finger.

He could feel the eyes of his companions bearing down on him, and hear their cries as they tried to persuade him to move, yet the halfling had hardly the strength left to breathe. It was then that another thought gripped him: they would not let him use it! These 'comrades' would steal the ring for themselves rather than watch as he took command of it. With that, Frodo slipped the ring from its chain and onto his finger.

For a moment the remaining company froze even as the Nazgul, now sure of their target, rushed forward. "Frodo!" Sam screamed, but there was no sign of the hobbit.

A sudden cry met their ears: "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" It broke whatever spell seemed to bind them, and the five bolded forward to aid their companion.

A battle against five black riders was exacting under the best of circumstances, and nearly futile in the dark night while attempting not to stumble over an invisible halfling. Yet, after only a few short moments of melee the Ringwraiths retreated from the small company and escaped into the dark.

"Yusraa! Strider!" Merry's call brought the two back from the watchtower's edge.

The hobbits were encircled about something on the ground, and it took both ranger and southron a moment to realize that the broken shape was that of Frodo. The halfling's eyes were glazed over, and his breathing came in short gasps. A deep gash in his left shoulder was forming a puddle of bright blood at the halfling's side, and into this Strider dipped a finger, drawing it to his lips. He spat the liquid out a moment later: "Poison."

"Strider," Yusraa's voice trembled slightly as she held aloft a dagger. As the other's turned to watch, the blade crumbled to dust.

"A Morgul blade," Muttered the ranger. Scooping the injured hobbit up, he started toward the edge of Weathertop. "This is beyond my skill to heal," He stated, glancing back for a moment at the others. "He needs elvish medicine. Hurry!"

Yusraa moved to obey, and the hobbits followed suit, hurriedly gathering their packs as Strider disappeared over the watchtower's ridge. Sam darted off to grab the pony, and the solemn company was soon off on their silent journey through the dark.

**DoomsDavDevice**: Thanks so much for being the first to review my story! Half the reason I wrote this was to explore what it would be like if the fellowship was joined by an OC who wasn't elvin or royal.

**FebruarySong**: I'm glad you're enjoying it so far, hope this chapter didn't disappoint!

**Me and Funeralfairy:** I'll take the chance to respond individually to you two when I post Chapter 4, but for now I just wanted to say a huge 'thank you' for catching my mistakes and giving me feed back on them. You have no idea how much that sort of thing helps my writing. :)


	3. An Elvish Encounter

**Author's Note**: I am still trying to find a good balance between description and conversation. As a result, this chapter has a lot more of the characters talking and a lot less narrative about their surroundings. I'd love feedback on whether you guys prefer this style, or the one I have used in my previous two chapters. Also, the reviewer responses are once again at the end of the page. – Elf Girl

**Chapter 3: An Elvish Encounter**

"This is madness," Yusraa meant to address only Strider, but in the dead of night there was little to drown out her voice. "Frodo needs to be warmed, and his wounds tended to."

The company had been on the move for hours in the darkness, and the three hobbits found themselves straining to keep the sharp pace that the ranger set for them. The wound in Frodo's shoulder had ceased bleeding, but the halfling looked no better and gave no response to worried questions raised by his companions.

Strider did not slow. "We must press on while our strength holds."

"To what end? We are more than a hundred miles from Rivendell," The girl reminded him, shaking her head; "Even on horseback we could not hope to arrive without pausing for rest."

The ranger gave no response, and his companion lapsed into disapproving silence.

As they pressed on, the darkness around them melted into shades of gray, before bursting with the color of dawn. The light did little to lift their spirits, however, for its warm glow only served to accent Frodo's state.

Strider continued to forge his own path eastward, straight toward the House of Elrond and through a dismal plateau of thickets and stunted trees. The bracken was thick enough to inhibit their movements, but offered no sense of concealment. The hobbits often found themselves glancing about, expecting the sight of Wraiths in every shadow they passed.

The sun seemed to stand still as the company continued on without pause but, at long last, the light dwindled and slowly drew itself beyond the edge of the western sky. They continued in veiled moonlight until the barest hint of shelter, in the form of a few trees, presented itself.

The moment Strider halted, the hobbits cast off their packs and threw themselves down in the brush, trying to recover breath and strength lost on the long march. The ranger carefully laid Frodo down, before drawing together wood for a fire as Yusraa attempted to clean the halfling's wound. The hobbit's face was ashen, and his skin cold to the touch. A sharp curse in Yusraa's own tongue brought the attention of their small companions.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin questioned softly, it was the question that had haunted him since Weathertop.

Yusraa shook her head, but it was Strider who answered; "He's passing into the shadow world," The ranger explained as he lit the fire. "He will soon become a wraith."

"How do we help him?" Sam's voice trembled slightly as he looked down at the still form of his friend.

"There is little more we can do," Yusraa noted bitterly. "Strider is right; we must get Frodo to Rivendell with all speed."

The conversation tapered off as it was realized that there was nothing more to say. Sam began to boil water and see to a quick meal, while Merry and Pippin wrapped Frodo in all the blankets that could be spared.

Strider seemed lost in his own thoughts, and caused one or two of the hobbits to jump at his abrupt question: "Sam, do you know Athelas plant?"

The halfling was silent, the confusion on his face accented in the firelight. "Kingsfoil?" He guessed at last.

"Aye."

"Ah, that's a weed," Sam responded dismissingly.

The ranger stood. "It may help to slow the poison," he informed the hobbit, slipping away into the dark. "Hurry!"

Sam immediately thrust the cooking pot he held into Merry's hands and darted off after the ranger. "You'll need a torch!" The second halfling called out, but he received no answer.

It was Sam who first returned, arms filled with more Athelas springs than Frodo could ever need. The hobbit dropped the collection at Yusraa's feet and looked at her expectantly. Plucking off a few of the leaves, the Haradrim cast them into the pot of water that had been set to boil.

After a few moments, the girl fished the leaves back out and gingerly pressed them to the ringbearer's wound. Frodo let out a hiss of pain, but gave no other token of response.

"Is that it?" Questioned Merry.

Yusraa sighed, "This is the best we can do." Glancing up, she met the hobbits' gaze, "Get some sleep, dawn brings a journey no easier than today's."

"What of Strider?" Sam asked darkly; "I did not see what became of him."

"He is well, I am sure," The girl assured absently; "I imagine he found something of interest out in the dark."

The hobbits looked rather concerned by Yusraa's statement, but none chose to press the Haradrim for further speculation. With a few last worried glances toward Frodo, the halflings bid one another goodnight and were soon sleeping soundly.

Strider returned soon thereafter, Athelas and a few other herbs in hand.

"Four wraiths at least still hunt us," He noted quietly, dropping to Yusraa's side.

The girl shook her head, "And more than a week's journey lies ahead of us."

"How is Frodo?"

"The fire and Kingsfoil have done little to help him," Dark eyes glimmered in the firelight as Yusraa spoke. "He is fading too swiftly."

Silence pressed down upon the two, each lost amid their own thoughts.

"You should rest," The southron noted at last. "I will keep watch."

Strider was not fond of the idea, but exhaustion from carrying Frodo throughout the day's journey dampened his chivalry. After tending to the fire and checking on the wounded hobbit once more, the ranger allowed himself to sleep.

The night was masked by an eerie calm, and Yusraa soon found herself wandering in ever-widening circles about the camp to keep alert. It was a waste of strength, but placing focus on each step helped to distract the girl from darker thoughts as she awaited the sun.

It was well before sunrise when the Haradrim found a new diversion. The soft lines of a rider materialized in the dark of the east, and steadily grew stronger as the form galloped toward the company's firelight. Yusraa crouched to the ground immediately. She could not dare to hope that her careless wandering had gone unnoticed by the figure, yet she attempted to regain some constituent of surprise as the girl crept silently into the rider's path.

It was clear the figure was not one of the Nazgul, for the horse it rode was pale as the moon. Yusraa drew little comfort in this; however, for the being itself was veiled from sight by a cloak. Edging closer, the girl slipped her scimitar from its sheath and waited.

The rider was nearly upon her when the Southron finally moved. Sword raised, she darted from the shadows and drew herself up to the limits of her slight stature. "Show yourself!" She demanded.

Neither horse nor rider was startled. With fluid movements the figure dropped to the ground and swept back her hood. "Yusraa, it is I," The voice was as light as air.

The Haradrim appeared frozen for a moment, her mind racing to comprehend this turn of events. Swiftly, she re-sheathed her sword and darted back toward the camp, calling out over her shoulder: "Hurry, we need your help."

Strider awoke to the melodious sound of voices murmuring in the dark. Glancing about, the ranger spotted two forms kneeling over Frodo's body. The first was clearly Yusraa– the girl was nearly impossible to mistake, even in the dead of night– and it was the second figure which drew the ranger's attention. The being was taller than the Haradrim, and the elegance and grace which resonated from its still form spoke of ancient nobility.

"Arwen?" Strider did not dare to raise his voice above a whisper, afraid to brake whatever spell had brought the elf into their presence.

The maiden rose immediately and drew herself to his side, dispelling any fears the ranger held. "_Suilad_, Aragorn;" She greeted him, trailing slender fingers along his cheek.

"_Man le carel sí? (What are you doing here?)"_ Questioned Strider, his eyes bright as he gazed up at her.

"I was sent to look for you," The elf responded; "News of the Nine has reached Imladris; we feared that you were in danger."

"And we are," Yusraa noted, interrupting the two softly. "Frodo needs aid; one of us must take him to Elrond."

The urgency of their quest, which seemed to have disappeared with sleep, came crashing back upon Strider. Picking his way among the hobbits' sleeping forms, he scooped up the ringbearer once more and laid him gently on Arwen's steed.

A sharp cry of pain escaped Frodo's lips, shaking his small companions from their slumber. In a moment the camp sprang to life, as the sleep-laden halflings tried to understand the sight before them.

"What is going on?" Merry questioned, stumbling to his feet.

Strider cast a sidelong glance at the confused lot before turning back to the task at hand. "_Dartho guin Perin. (Stay with the hobbits)," _He muttered swiftly to Yusraa and Arwen;_ Rych le ad tolthathon.__ (I will send horses for you.)"_

The lady of Imladris shook her head and reached for the horse's reigns, "_Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im._ _(I'm the faster rider. I'll take him.)"_

"She's an elf," Sam whispered to the other hobbits, staring at the maiden in wonder.

"Arwen Undomiel," Murmured Yusraa, sitting back on her heels.

Pippin perked up, heartened by the thought that they had not been dismissed altogether; "What are they saying?"

The girl merely shook her head. Though she had fallen out of the conversation between elf and ranger, it was clear that Strider would not have the halflings know what was transpiring and she would not change that.

"_Andelu i ven.__ (The road is too dangerous.)"_ The ranger stated, silently pleading with Arwen to reconsider.

She would not. _"__Frodo fir. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon. (__Frodo dies. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.)"_

Strider searched the elf's face for a moment, concern tainting his features. Arwen spoke the truth, and there was no fear in her steady gaze. Finally, the ranger gave in; _"Be iest lin. (According to your wish.)"_

With one effortless move, the elf mounted behind Frodo. She gave Strider one last look before urging her horse onward. The steed needed little prompting, and it showed no sign of weariness as it sprang off into the night.

Sam was on his feet in an instant, "What are you doing?" He shouted at the ranger; "Those wraiths are still out there!"

There was no response; Strider did not move as he watched the maiden fade into the darkness, uncertainty still bright in his eyes.

"Will they be alright?" Pippin questioned timidly, tightening his grip on the blanket about his shoulders.

Yusraa sighed; "Get some sleep, all of you," she commanded the hobbits, before rising to stand at Strider's side.

There was no peace for any of them, and as the hobbits returned to their blankets they felt a terrible longing to be back at the Green Dragon, far away from dark riders and dark times. The three slowly succumbed to weariness, watching the silent forms of Strider and Yusraa flicker in the waning firelight.

* * *

**Dev**: Thanks for being the first to review my second chapter; I'm really glad you're enjoying it so far:D

**Ioanna**: I hate it when writers inject the perfect OC into their stories, and I'm happy that you don't find Yusraa to be that way. There will definitely be romance, but I can't make any promises about who it will/will not be with (except for Aragorn, he's already happily paired with Arwen.)

**FebruarySong**: Hee, hee, I have to say that I'm looking forward to the Council of Elrond too, if only because I have no idea how it will pan out… I've re-read the fight on Weathertop, and I'm disappointed with it too; if I can find the time in between writing the upcoming chapters I may work on revising it.


	4. The House of Elrond

**Author's Note: **Actually, I don't have much to say. This chapter is pretty choppy, but they do eventually end up in Rivendell, and I think that counts for something. ;) Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: The House of Elrond**

It was the glaring light of day which finally roused the three hobbits. There was no need for haste with Frodo gone, and Strider had decided to let them sleep. Yusraa had prepared breakfast for the company, though the food did little to lift the halflings' spirits.

"Now what?" Merry questioned at last.

"There is no need for secrecy anymore," responded Strider; "we will rejoin the main road and continue on to Rivendell."

Pippin glanced up, asking timidly: "will Frodo be alright?"

There was no response. Neither Haradrim nor Ranger had an answer for the halfling.

At length, Yusraa stood. "We should press on; if Arwen reached the Last Homely House then they shall be expecting us."

They broke camp, and it was not long before the company found themselves trudging along the main road once more. There, the five met several travelers from the east, dwarves mostly; but none had any news which comforted the small band. Although roaming upon the beaten path proved far easier than following the trial Strider forged, none of the companions seemed eager to rush along. Arrival in Rivendell would bring the truth of Frodo's journey, and it was far easier to remain in doubt.

Nightfall brought a welcome respite for the group. The clouds from the previous night had scattered, and after they ate Yusraa asked the Hobbits for stories of the constellations. They were happy to oblige, and immediately began explaining the Sickle, which sat just above the horizon.

"You must have heard these tales before," Merry insisted, noting the keen attention which the Southron paid them.

Yusraa shook her head, "the dwarves tell of Durin's Crown, the elves of Elbereth, and we have our own legends in my land."

"I would love to hear of those," Pippin exclaimed.

"They would mean little to you," Strider interjected; "for the stars of Harad are strange, and cannot be seen in the north."

The hobbits sat in silence for a moment, trying to imagine a land which lay beneath foreign stars.

"Have you ever seen an oliphaunt?" Asked Sam abruptly. As a young hobbit, he had always loved hearing stories about the great beasts of the south, although Samwise was never quite sure he believed in such things.

The girl gave a smile, "yes, when I was young."

Pippin's eyes grew large; "what was it like?"

"Beautiful and majestic and terrifying," Yusraa's voice became distant as she gazed into the fire. "No creature in all of Arda is like them, and none can stand in their path and live. Mumakil are the pride of Harad; as monstrous and wondrous as their riders."

"We have a poem in the Shire about oliphaunts," Merry mused; "I wish I could remember it."

Sam cleared his throat,

"Grey as a mouse,  
Big as a house,  
Nose like a snake,  
I make the earth shake,  
As I tramp through the grass;  
Trees crack as I pass.  
With horns in my mouth  
I walk in the South,  
Flapping big ears.  
Beyond count of years  
I stump round and round,  
Never lie on the ground,  
Not even to die.  
Oliphaunt am I,  
Biggest of all,  
Huge, old, and tall.  
If ever you'd met me  
You wouldn't forget me.  
If you never do,  
You won't think I'm true;  
But old Oliphaunt am I,  
And I never lie.

"It's nothing but hobbit nonsense," he added hastily, casting a sheepish glance toward Yusraa and Strider.

The girl met his gaze, her eyes sparkling, "well formed and well spoken. I did not expect Harad to be a topic of halfling interest."

"In the old days hobbit folk would travel south," interjected Pippin, excitedly; "not many returned, but those that did always had the best stories to tell."

"I would love to hear you recite them sometime," Yusraa said. "It has been too long since I have heard tales of my own people."

"Do you miss them?" Questioned Merry.

The Harad grew thoughtful, and for a moment the hobbits wondered if she would answer at all. "I miss what was," Yusraa finally stated; "Harad is too close to Mordor. At every turn more of my people fall under its dark grasp, blinded by greed and a desire for power. What remains is only a shadow of its former glory."

At the mention of Mordor, the hobbits' thoughts were abruptly turned back to Frodo and the Ringwraiths. What fear and concern that had managed to escape the company during stories of the stars now came bounding back to torment them. Silence reigned as the travelers drifted into troubled dreams.

Rain found the five in the early morning hours, extinguishing both fire and hopes as the company tried in vain to keep dry. Strider soon purposed that they move on and the others, stiff and shivering from the cold, readily agreed. Dawn found them slogging along a narrow pathway set between the hills which had risen up to greet them.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was the pony they had brought along. Bill, as Sam had affectionately named him, had grown steadily stronger since their departure from Bree, and the rain seemed to bring a welcome change in the animal's journey.

The hills to their left soon grew steeper, surmounting in cliffs high overhead. Here the trail became more entwined with the mountains, abruptly dropping or switching back between forests and rock walls. By late afternoon, the travelers rounded a sharp corner, and found themselves before a large door mounted crookedly into the cliffside.

Without pausing, Strider and Yusraa threw down their packs and began prying at the heavy door. The hobbits exchanged worried glances; any cave in the wild would have brought concern for the small companions, and this bore the mark of unfriendly origins. They had little time to voice their concern, however, for a moment later their guides were ushering them in out of the downpour.

In the few strains of light which managed to break through clouds, trees, and the narrow doorway they could make out the cave floor. It was littered with bones, charred wood, and broken pots, which were piled high about the cavern's edges.

"A troll-hole," Merry breathed.

"Hurry, before they return!" Pippin commanded the others, darting back outside.

"It has been abandoned," Strider assured the hobbits, as he snatched up the bags they had tossed down and began to close the door. "We will be safe here tonight."

Sam shook his head, moving back to the cave's quickly narrowing opening, "what if they un-abandon it?"

"That would take some skill," Noted Yusraa, a smile playing at her lips. "The trolls that lived here where the ones which discovered Bilbo and the dwarves on their way to The Lonely Mountain. They have not moved since."

Fear vanished and excitement spread across the hobbits' faces.

"They are out there, then," Merry mused aloud; "can we see them?"

"When the rain lets up, yes;" said Strider. There was a stack of dry firewood near the back of the cave, and the ranger busied himself with creating a fire near the mouth of the shelter.

From this, Yusraa drew a torch and began to examine the cave walls. The stone slabs were covered in places with runes and other writings: marks made by travelers who had been told that they could find rest in the troll-hole. After several moments, she returned to the fireside. "No news," she murmured to the ranger.

Darkness had fallen outside the cave, and none of the companions noticed when the cave door initially began to move. It was Strider who first realized it, hurriedly motioning for the hobbits to be quiet and move farther back in the cave. The ranger drew his sword, and Yusraa quickly followed suit. Both positioned themselves just within the shadows of the entrance, waiting.

The door finally halted, and forms began to take shape in the darkness. Instantly Strider and Yusraa reacted, the cold steel of their weapons coming to rest against the strangers' throats.

A moment later their blades fell, replaced with clasped shoulders and brief hugs.

The hobbits stepped slowly forward, looking in awe at the fair forms before them. Elvish, the two appeared, and were so alike in face and manner that the halflings could only assume that they were brothers. Their clear voices rang out in the fair tongue of the Eldar, and Yusraa and Strider were quick to respond in the same, as the three small friends waited to learn what was going on.

At last, Strider beckoned to them. The two were introduced as Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond and brothers of Arwen. Each greeted the hobbits with a bow, and was quick to enquire the names and relations of the three.

"Is Frodo alright?" Sam questioned the moment the introductions were completed.

The elves smiled warmly at him, and Elladan was the first to speak: "he was badly injured, but not beyond our father's skill."

"Arwen is also well," Elrohir added, casting a side glance at Strider. The ranger said nothing, but relief marked his features.

"And what of Gandalf?" Asked Yusraa as she ushered the twins toward the fireside.

"He is well and awaiting for your return," Elladan assured, eyes bright as he watched the girl breathe a silent sigh of relief. "We have been sent with horses and supplies to fetch you."

"_Hannon le," _Strider thanked them warmly.

The twins nodded, before turning their attention back to the hobbits. The three sat transfixed as Elladan and Elrohir relayed how Bilbo was getting along in Rivendell before, at Yusraa's prompting, offering up tales of elvish lore.

All too soon, however, the halflings began to fall prey to exhaustion, as the effects of a long journey and good news set in on them. One by one, they slowly drifted off into the dream world.

"How has your journey been?" Elladan questioned once all three were sleeping soundly.

Strider sighed, "we should have been better prepared. It was folly to believe that six could go unnoticed by the Wraiths; Frodo would have died were it not for Arwen's aid."

The twins were silent for a moment; the news was grim, but not unexpected.

"_Ada_ has called a council of the free lands," noted Elrohir at last. "The fate of the ring will be decided then, and the halflings can return home."

The ranger nodded, but Yusraa was less enchanted. "What wisdom do dwarves and men have to offer to the Eldar?" She questioned; "too many know about the ring already, such a meeting will be a hindrance."

"We cannot hope to destroy the ring without help," Elladan admonished gently. "Even the skill of the elves will not be enough to get a company into the Dark Realm unnoticed."

"Than we should ask for aid when it is needed and not until then," Insisted the Haradrim.

"It has already been done, Yus," Strider noted, a hint of amusement in his voice; "and I would imagine that Elrond would have more wisdom on such matters than you."

"Elvish wisdom, perhaps; but what do elves know of mortal minds?" A smirk marked Yusraa's features as displeasure gave way to mirth.

Elrohir grinned back at her, "I would explain it to you, but I cannot think of words small enough."

Strider and Elladan both laughed as Yusraa tried rather unsuccessfully to look enraged.

The four spoke for a short while longer before, at the insistence of the twins, Yusraa and Strider joined the sleeping hobbits. The elves had no need for sleep, though each withdrew to his own thoughts as they awaited the morning.

The pale light of dawn seemed to have chased away the storm clouds of the previous day and, as soon as they finished breakfast, the mortals set out to see the trolls. Elladan and Elrohir remained behind to see about preparations for the day's journey.

They found the three monsters in a clearing, and the beasts appeared so real that the hobbits half feared that they would shake off their stone mantles and attack. Strider and Yusraa seemed to bear no such apprehension, the ranger mingled freely among the huge forms while the Haradrim clambered to sit upon the shoulder of a rather confused looking troll. After a few more moments of suspicious glances, the halflings joined their companions and Sam was called upon to retell Bilbo's adventure with the creatures.

The elves found them not long after the tale ended. With the two came the four horses they had brought from Rivendell and Bill the pony, who appeared delighted to walk alongside such fair creatures.

The halflings, Sam especially, were less than enchanted with the idea of riding, and insisted rather forcefully that hobbits belonged on the ground. Their words did little good, however, and they soon found themselves mounted behind their taller companions; Merry with Strider, Pippin with Yusraa, and Sam with Elladan.

Despite the hobbits' fears, the horses bore their riders with swift and gentle paces. From the troll-hole to Rivendell was an easy ride of three days, and they flew past without incidence.

It was mid-afternoon on the third day when the road they followed broke abruptly from the woods that had surrounded them and twisted about at the edge of a cliff. Sam was the first of the hobbits to look out over the drop off, for Elladan rode in the lead of their company, and the sight stole his breath away. The whole valley shone of waterfalls and rivers, and amidst the rushing waters sat a cluster of buildings whose rooftops seemed to glow in the sunlight.

"Welcome to Imladris," Elrohir said to the hobbits as he joined his brothers' side; "The Last Homely House of the East."

They had arrived.

**Me: **Your editing is amazing, especially with the quotes stuff. I had an English teacher in the 3rd and 4th grades who screwed up my capitalization when it comes to conversations, and I definitely needed to be reminded how to format them correctly. I know my storyline is cliche, but it's one I've wanted to write for the past several years and I can't really change it now. :)

**Madde:** I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Thanks for catching my mistake in Chap 2, I would never have seen it otherwise. Hope this chapter didn't disappoint!

**February Song**: As first reviewer of Chapter 4, you win the right to jump up and down while exclaiming, "I'm the best, I'm the best!" Have fun. :D Lol, I'm actually not all that fond of Arwen in the movie, but Aragorn loves her too much to be paired up with anyone else, so it works…

**Wend Writer:** And do you know what this writer says to that? _Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! _;) Actually, I would love to hear any comments you have pertaining specifically to my story, but copied-and-pasted flames that can be traced back to your Livejournal account don't do much for either of us.

**Ioanna**: Thanks so much for your support, you have no idea how good it is to hear that my writing doesn't suck as much as Wend Writer implied.

**Water Raven**: Thanks for the review! That's cool that you find it original, hopefully it stays somewhat that way in future chapters…

**Memory Bleeds**: I have the same problem with fics dying as soon as I begin to get attached to them. It may take me a while, but I have every intention of finishing this story eventually.


	5. An Evening in Imladris

**Author's Note: **First off, if this chapter seems to have far fewer errors than my previous chaps, it's because the fantastic FebruarySong has offered to be my beta reader. Thanks again, FebruarySong. :)

Secondly, sorry it's taken me forever to post this chapter; I've been house sitting for a family, and their internet went out after the first few days. It was like living in the Dark Ages, but with indoor plumbing…

As always, comments, criticisms, and critiques are all extremely helpful, thanks!

– Elf Girl

**An Evening in Imladris**

The twins immediately led the way to Frodo's room, before begging their leave of the company to stable the horses and see about rooms for the hobbits. For a moment, the halflings merely stared at one another; the beauty of Rivendell had all but cleared their thoughts of the Ringbearer, but now that they stood in his threshold apprehension bound their movements.

"Come," Strider beckoned them after a moment, and the travelers followed him inside.

'Inside' was an arbitrary term, for the room was little more enclosed than the open pathway they had followed. Sunlight streamed in from wide windows and a winding balcony, causing the two individuals within to shimmer with radiance. Frodo was tucked in the midst of a wide bed and, although the hobbit appeared to be sleeping, he bore no resemblance to the shadowy form who had ridden off with Arwen only a few nights previous. Next to the bed sat a wizened figure, grey of clothes and hair, but whose sparkling eyes caused the hobbits to break into wide grins.

"Gandalf!" exclaimed Pippin, darting to seat himself at the foot of the bed.

The wizard returned their smiles. "My dear friends," he greeted them. "How was your journey?"

"Longer than any I hope to take again," noted Merry decisively as he joined Pippin.

"Is Frodo well?" Sam questioned, stepping to his master's still side. Although the Ringbearer appeared to be in good health, the young hobbit would have been much more relieved if Frodo had been awake to speak for himself on the matter.

"Better than he has been in quite some time," Gandalf assured him. "He has not yet woken, but Lord Elrond has treated the wound himself, and few injuries surpass his skill."

Yusraa and Strider had taken seats next to the wizard, and the Haradrim clasped his hand, her dark eyes meeting keen azure ones. "And what of you, Incanus?" she questioned intently. "What happened to you?"

The wizard sighed, and his expression grew grave, "I sought the wisdom of the head of my council, but Saruman the White has succumbed to the will of the Dark Lord. He imprisoned me atop the tower Orthanc, and I remained there until, by chance, I was rescued by Gwaihir the Windlord, swiftest of the Great Eagles."

The company fell silent. To Strider and Yusraa the news came as a hard blow, and to the hobbits it seemed that anyone who could capture Gandalf must be terrible indeed.

Pippin was the first to speak again. "Gwaihir?" He asked. "Was it he who helped save you and Bilbo and the Dwarves from the orcs?"

"Yes, he and those under him. I am surprised you remember such things." Gandalf's eyes glittered.

"Would you like to see Bilbo?" Strider asked the hobbits suddenly. Sam chose to remain with the sleeping Ringbearer, but Merry and Pippin were quick to agree. With a final nod to Gandalf, the ranger turned and led the two from the room.

After a moment, Yusraa stood. "I am glad you are alright," she told the Istari as she moved toward the door.

Wizard and hobbit bid farewell, and she was gone.

Sunlight was fading as the girl made her way to her own room. As she stepped inside, Yusraa sighed. A month's absence in the heart of autumn had taken its toll on the space, leaving the floor flooded with leaves and papers which had been blown madly about. It was just as well, the Haradrim thought; Elladan and Elrohir had spoken of a feast to be held at dusk for those who had already arrived for Elrond's council, and she was glad for the excuse to avoid the scrutiny of strangers.

The room took less time than Yusraa had anticipated, and she soon found herself cleaned and wandering out into the cool night. The chatter of guests filled the air, and to escape it the girl began to wander the paths which surrounded Rivendell, slowly working her way deeper into the peaceful woods.

It was some time before the voices fell away altogether, and Yusraa became aware of the faint plod of hoof beats and footsteps behind her. She listened intently; the paces were too light for a dwarf, and yet so distinct as to be a hobbit or elf. A chill ran across her spine as the Haradrim slipped her dagger from its sheath, immediately regretting that she had not bothered to bring her scimitar.

"Let your weapon fall!" a cold voice demanded from the darkness behind her.

The girl shuddered: the words were accented by the tones of Gondor. After a moment's hesitation, her blade dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Immediately a gloved hand whirled her about, as the cold steel of a sword was pressed against Yusraa's neck. It took all her strength to remain still as she made out her attacker in the darkness. He stood tall and proud, clothed in rich garments and bearing the look of nobility. In his silver gaze the Haradrim saw a mixture of smugness and revulsion as he sized up his prey.

"Tell me," he drew the words out, as if expecting that the Haradrim would not understand his tongue. "Have you managed to follow me the whole way from Gondor, or is there some other nest of your kind about?"

"I came from Rivendell," the girl whispered, attempting in vain to keep her voice steady. "I am a friend of Lord Elrond and of Gandalf the Grey."

In one fluid movement, the blade left Yusraa's neck as the man slammed the hilt of his weapon into her unprotected abdomen. Pain exploded and the Haradrim sank to her knees; curling up in an attempt to lesson the agony.

The Gondorian stooped to her side, his voice dangerously soft: "where did you learn those names?"

For long moments the girl could do little more than gasp for breath, pain clouding her mind. As her wits slowly returned, Yusraa noticed that the steel was no longer at her throat. Another breath, and she scooped her dagger from the ground and staggered a few paces back.

The man appeared unsurprised by her actions. With experienced movements he followed her retreat, amusement flickering across his face as he waited for the Haradrim to lash out or attempt to run in her weakened state.

"If you do not wish to answer my questions," he told the Haradrim at length, "then you do not need to live."

Yusraa had waited grimly the attack. As the Gondorian raised his sword to relieve the girl of her neck, she threw her dagger, its blade slicing through the man's vambrace and burying itself in his forearm. His stroke still fell, but agony caused the steel to bite her shoulder in place of her neck. The Gondorian dropped his weapon, staring mesmerized at the knife imbedded in his flesh.

Clutching fiercely at her wound, Yusraa turned and, without a second glance, stumbled away into the night. The girl wound madly through the woods, attempting to bar the pain from her mind as she listened desperately for the sound of pursuit. It did no good; Yusraa could feel the sickening warmth of blood seeping through her fingertips, and with every movement the fire which seemed to engulf her shoulder was magnified.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Haradrim reached her room once more. The adrenaline which had brought her this far seeped away as the girl turned up a lamp and sank onto her bed. Yusraa was no healer, and she only managed a halfhearted attempt to bind the slice before being overtaken by a darkness free from pain.

A harsh knock jarred the Haradrim back into reality as her door was thrown open and a lone figure strode into the room. Blood pounded in Yusraa's ears as she struggled to sit up, a sharp cry rose unbidden to her lips as the movement brought with it a flood of pain.

For a moment Elrond merely gazed at the girl, taking in her wrapped shoulder and eyes wide from pain and fear. "A wounded rider reached our boarders this evening," he said at last. "Boromir, son to the steward of Gondor. He said a Southron attacked him, with this," here he withdrew the dagger that had been buried in the man's arm and held it out to Yusraa. The blade shone clearly of elvin craft. "Do you know anything about this?"

The girl looked down at her uninjured hand, which toyed restlessly with the edge of her blanket. After several moments, her gaze rose to meet the elf lord's, a grim smile dancing across her lips. "I defended myself against a man who would have relieved me of my life had I not hindered his blow, nothing more."

Silence reigned once more as Elrond mulled this over. Finally, the elf responded, "Tomorrow you will seek out Boromir and see that this is corrected."

Yusraa's countenance fell. "What am I to correct?" she questioned indignantly, patience curtailed by pain.

"You stabbed a noble of Gondor. Regardless of the circumstances, your actions will not be viewed kindly."

"My actions?" the girl demanded. "Were I an elf they would be viewed with understanding."

"Were you an elf, this would not have happened!" The edge in Elrond's voice caused the Haradrim to drop her gaze once more, fearing reproach. He sighed, "Yusraa, the council meets tomorrow to determine the fate of Middle Earth. Do not be so foolish as to believe that your vendetta is reason enough to evoke the wrath of Gondor. You will do whatever is needed to amend what has happened."

The girl gave a slow nod, and the elf's gaze softened, "Let me see your wound."

With tentative movements, the girl began to unbind her shoulder. Blood stuck to the wrappings, causing Yusraa to hiss as she attempted to pull them away. Elrond soon stopped her. Drawing a knife, the elf deftly began cutting away bandages and part of the Haradrim's tunic to get a better look at the wound.

It had been a smooth cut; the blade had separated skin and sinew, but had not been strong enough to break bone. Nevertheless, it took several basins of clean water and what felt like many hours to the girl's tired mind before Elrond was satisfied that the wound was clean. Finally, he rewrapped the cut and helped Yusraa to lie back down.

"_Hannon le,"_ she murmured, gazing up at him through sleep-filled eyes.

The elf lord gave a gentle nod. "_Oltho va_," (dream well) he told the girl, stepping silently from the room. She was asleep before the door closed.

Morning came all too soon. Yusraa dragged herself from bed and, with stiff movements, prepared for the day. Elrond's skill had lessoned the pain from the previous night, but the Haradrim was still cautious not to move too quickly for fear of ripping the healing wound. Nevertheless, the girl slung on her sword; she would not be caught off guard again.

It took longer than expected to track down the Gondorian, in part because he had also risen early to explore the Last Homely House, and in part because Yusraa went out of her way to avoid the other guests.

She found him at last amid the books and maps of Elrond's Library, peering at a wall of dusty spines. The man caught her movements from the corner of his eye and turned to face the girl. A cold moment passed as the two merely stared at one another, each waiting. Finally, Yusraa harnessed her pride and gave the hint of a bow.

The Gondorian broke into a cold smile as he stepped toward her. "You spoke the truth," he noted. "Lord Elrond himself insisted that I not seek revenge for your actions against me."

A tremor danced down the girl's back and her hand dropped instinctively to rest on her hilt as the man drew near, a strange light gleaming in his eyes. "How is your arm?" she questioned hesitantly.

He seemed not to have heard her. "What new working of Sauron is this?" his voice dropped to a murmur; "that his spies can find protection even among elvish lands?"

"I am no servant of the Dark Lord!" Yusraa exclaimed harshly.

"Indeed? Few, save those under darkness, would attack a man of Gondor in the dead of night."

It took all the girl's strength not to lash out and relieve the Gondorian of his head. "Tell me," she prompted at last. "What madness has taken Gondor that a victim of ambush, defending herself against certain death, is said to have 'attacked' her enemy?"

The smirk vanished from the man's face, replaced by an icy stare. He meant to respond, but the startling voice of a lone bell gave pause to his words: it was the summons to the council.

With one last glance at the Gondorian, Yusraa turned and slipped from the room.

* * *

**Water Raven: **I'm happy that you're enjoying the fic, and thanks so much for your support! Lol, I hate it when I can't think of the word I want to use, it's so aggravating.

**February**** Song**Glad you liked that I added info about their journey, my main reason for writing it was to throw the twins in, they're amazing. :) I can't thank you enough for beta reading my stuff, it's made a huge difference.

**Memory Bleeds: **Hee, hee, I kinda had the same feeling while writing it (wanting to get back at the elves, anyway)… I think it worked out well with their characteristics, though…

**Yellowrock**: Thanks for your constructive criticism, hopefully having someone beta my work will cut down on my errors. I agree that the world of fanfiction has had enough 'Tenth Walker' fics, but my desire to write this has left my judgment impaired in that area. ;)

**Funeral Fairy**: Sorry the council isn't in this chap, I tried several different times to fit it in, but none of them worked too well. At least this way I can devote the entire next chapter to it.

**Mist and Dust 13**: I love your username, it sound really elegant. Glad you're enjoying the story so far!


	6. The Council

**Author's Note: **Gah, I'm so sorry I haven't posted in forever! I was suffering from a combination of writer's block and new-work-syndrome (I just got a job and it cut into my writing time, which meant that this chapter was put on hold for a while) Anyway, I just wanted to restate that I have every intention of continuing this fanfic, but it may be 1-2 weeks between my posts, because life has gotten busy on my end.

– Elf Girl

**The Council**

A ring of chairs, at least twenty in number, had been arranged upon a sunlit veranda. Morning's warm light danced about the circle, but seemed not to touch the grim expressions of those who had begun to assemble, awaiting the council which was to come.

As she drew near to the gathering, Yusraa paused. She recognized a handful of those present, Elrond and members of his household, but among them were elves and dwarves who had been summoned from far off lands. The girl suppressed a hiss of displeasure; explaining her presence was difficult under the best circumstances, and with the wounded Gondorian to testify against her there was no chance of being well-received. She had little time for speculation, however, for a sudden voice at her elbow drew the Haradrim from her thoughts.

"Yusraa!" Frodo exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face upon discovering the girl.

"You are well," Yusraa stated the obvious as she took in the hobbit's ruddy complexion. "When did you wake?"

"This morning," he stated, stepping toward the circle of chairs. Confusion marked his features when the girl did not follow. "Are you coming?"

A moment more of hesitation, and Yusraa reluctantly followed the Ringbearer. Almost immediately she felt the weight of strange eyes and heard voices drop to murmurs at her approach. The Haradrim was careful to keep her gaze fixed on Frodo even as she wondered how far the news of her incident from the previous night had spread.

Undeterred by the soft musings, the hobbit quickly found his way to a seat and Yusraa hurried close behind. She moved to sit as a bold voice broke out behind her.

"Tell me, Lord Elrond," Boromir's voice echoed in the hush as he stepped into the circle. "Is it a common practice of the elves to summon enemies as well as allies to such a meeting as this?"

Elrond's gaze flit darkly from Boromir to Yusraa, and the girl found herself fearing for her right to be present at the council. At long last, the elf spoke. "Yusraa is a guest in my home," he noted for all to hear. "Despite her appearance, she is no traitor to our cause."

"How are we to know that?" another man spoke up. "Long has Harad dwelt in the service of the enemy, are we to believe that this one girl differs from her people?"

At the edge of her vision, Yusraa saw Gandalf and Strider slip into the circle. The wizard moved to sit down beside Frodo, while the ranger seated himself amid the elves.

At their arrival, Elrond rose. "You have all been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor," he told the company. "Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom, you will unite or you will fall."

And with that, discontent was silenced and the council began.

Between them, Gandalf and Elrond recounted the history of the ring, from Sauron's fall at the hand of Isildur to its arrival at Imladris. It was a tale that had been ever-present in Yusraa's mind since she and Strider had set out from Rivendell to fetch the hobbits, and the girl took the time to appraise those present.

Yusraa recognized nearly all those seated around to her left. Closest sat Glorfindel and Erestor, fair and wise of face and character, and councilors of Elrond's household. Elrond stood at their side, and beyond him sat the twins and Strider. Both Elrohir and the ranger appeared lost in thought, but Elladan caught the girl's glance and returned it with a grim smile. Yusraa nodded slightly to the elf before continuing around the circle.

Here, the girl's recognition of the guests nearly failed her completely. A cluster of elves, from the Gray Havens by their clothing, sat nearly opposite the Haradrim, and beside them Boromir and several more men of Gondor. The harsh difference between the two races was underscored by their close proximity. The elves remained solemn, but detached; they had seen the evil of Sauron stretched out across the ages, and had already begun to separate themselves from the grasp of Middle Earth. In contrast, the Gondorians seemed to hang on every word spoken; nodding at some, frowning at others. The threat of Mordor sat upon their doorstep, and they appeared ready at a moment's notice to leap forward and defend whatever position they held on what must be done.

Beyond these sat a band of dwarves. Yusraa could not be entirely certain that she had not met one or two of the stout beings, for all dwarves looked the same, hairy and foreign, to her young eyes. There was another band of men beside the dwarves, and finally, to Gandalf's left, a group of fair-hared elves. The company piqued the girl's interest, for she had never seen elves clothed in the shades of green and brown that these wore. She wondered for a moment whether they had come from the forests of Mirkwood, or whether they were they were from some remnant of elves that she had not been told of.

There was little time for speculation however, for a deafening silence had descended upon the council. Glancing up, the Haradrim found the gaze of the whole company fixed upon the hobbit at her side. With timid movements, Frodo slowly stood and approached the stone pedestal which stood at the center of the porch. He gingerly placed the Ring of Sauron on the cold surface and shrank back to his seat amid a flurry of awed murmurs.

Boromir rose slowly, his eyes fixed on the ring. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern side grow dark but in the West a pale light lingered," he murmured almost to himself, drawing closer to the table. "A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.'"

With one final step, the Gondorian reached forward to pluck up the ring. Elrond was on his feet with a shout of warning in an instant, but he was muted by a harsher voice. "_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._"

A cold thrill shook Yusraa, as she realized that it was Gandalf who voiced the dark tongue of Mordor, his tone and presence bearing all the authority of an Istari of the Valar. All those present shrank back in their seats, and it appeared that the very sun had shrouded itself at the words.

Elrond glared at the wizard. "Never before has any voice dared to utter the words of that tongue here in Imladris," he noted coldly.

"And let us hope that none will ever speak it here again," responded Gandalf, gentleness returning to his voice. "Nonetheless I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil."

Boromir had quickly recovered his wits. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor," he insisted, returning to his feet. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it," Strider suddenly threw himself into the exchange. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It will bear other master."

With a look of contempt, Boromir turned to face him. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

Yusraa started to her feet in Strider's defense, but found herself too late.

"This is no mere ranger," declared one of the fair-haired elves angrily. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"Aragorn?" questioned Boromir in disbelief. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf added.

The council's gaze settled upon Aragorn, who stared for a moment at Boromir, before turning to the elf. "_Havo dad _Legolas," he commanded gently.

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king," Boromir murmured as he returned to his seat as well.

Frodo shook his head in awe, watching the former-ranger with wide eyes. "Then the ring belongs to you!" he exclaimed.

"It does not belong to either of us," Aragorn told the hobbit gently. "Though it was ordained that you should hold it for a while."

Elrond nodded, before commanding the attention of the council once more. "That time is at an end. The ring must be destroyed."

"What are we waiting for?" demanded one of the dwarves. In an instant he was on his feet, axe in hand. With a loud growl he brought the blade crashing down upon the pedestal.

Yusraa felt Frodo recoil suddenly as the axe shattered and the dwarf was thrown back. The ring itself remained untouched.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess." Elrond informed the dwarf coolly. "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Silence once again thundered down upon the council as the weight of the task descended upon its inhabitants. Three months at least, Yusraa dropped into her own thoughts; three months journey across Middle Earth with orcs and wraiths searching without pause for the ring. It would not be a pleasant journey by any means.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor." Boromir broke the silence at last, with the precise patience of a father correcting his children. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust; the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

The green and brown clad elf flew to his feet once more. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he demanded fiercely. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The dwarf sprang up in rebuttal. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?"

"And if we fail, what then?" demanded Boromir. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gimli continued, enraging those with Legolas. His fellow dwarves leaped to their feet in defense as he added, "Never trust an elf!"

With a clamor of bitter shouts, the council crumbled into a fray. It was only another moment before those with Boromir clambered forward to voice their opinions, and Gandalf rose in a grim attempt to speak reason into the melee.

Yusraa gave a heavy sigh, which turned into a gasp of pain as a vise-like grip enveloped her wounded shoulder, pulling the Haradrim to her feet. In an instant she found herself face-to-face with one of Boromir's companions.

"I know what you are," the man hissed. "A servant of The Dark Lord has no place at a meeting such as this."

The girl could give no response without whimpering, as the man's grasp re-opened the slice in her shoulder and she felt the warmth of blood once more as freshly-healing sinews were ground against bones.

"Let her go," the demanding voice of Elrohir reached the girl's ears. Both the twins and Aragorn were on their feet, watching the man intently.

The man did not seem to hear. Instead it was a sudden outburst on Frodo's part that caused the Gondorian to release his clutch and step back.

"I will take it, I will take it," the hobbit's small voice cried out over the din. In an instant the mob was silenced and every eye was once again fixed on the slight form. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he repeated softly. "Though, I do not know the way."

The ache in her shoulder was instantly dulled by a wave of regret that swept over Yusraa as she gazed down at the hobbit. He was too small; too innocent for such a task. Frodo had already been wounded once for the ring, this was a journey for warriors and rangers, not hobbits.

Gandalf seemed to have much the same thought. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," he told the halfling, stepping to his side. "So long as it is yours to bear."

One by one, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir pledged their allegiance to the hobbit as well. With tentative movements and a hand raised protectively to her shoulder, Yusraa stepped to join them. "I have seen the ring this far," she noted to Frodo. "By your leave I will see it to its doom."

The hobbit gave a smile and a nod, as noise erupted from the bushes behind him. Glancing up, Yusraa spotted Sam darting toward the assembly. As he entered the ring, the hobbit drew himself up to the limits of his short stature. "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!" he informed the council gruffly.

"No indeed," Elrond noted, a smile in his voice as he stepped toward the halfling. "It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Merry and Pippin were not far behind their companion, bursting out from behind two pillars to demand their place in the company as well.

"Ten companions," Elrond mused. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" Pippin noted enthusiastically, his gaze traveling about his companions. "Where are we going?"

* * *

**Shadow Phoenix 17:** Glad you're enjoying the fic so far, sorry about the long delay between chapters! 

**Mist and Dust 13**: I'm planning to add more on her heritage later on, it's kind of fun because Tolkien left so much about the Haradrim unmentioned.

**Feb Song: **Feel free to review as much as you want, the more feedback from you I get, the better my writing ends up. Glad you liked the changes that I ended up going with in the last chapter, and yay for the chocolate chip cookie! I swear they help me focus more on writing… ;)

**Mariano's-twins** Wow, you win the prize for writing most unique/amusing review I've ever read. :D Sorry, I can't make any promises about who Yusraa will end up falling for, though; it's still somewhat up in the air…

**Cally**: Sorry about the Homily/Homely thing, I went back and changed it after reading your review. I'd love to hear your opinion on the rest of the fic if you find the time to type it out. :)

**VikingValkerye267**Thanks! I'd never read an OC fic with a Southron, and I thought it might be fun to write…

**Water Raven: **I'm happy that you liked the last chapter, hope this one didn't disappoint!


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